


A Bridge Between Us

by Jaelijn



Series: A Heart to Hold [1]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Asexual Avon, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Gambit, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life on the <i>Liberator</i> can be a bit lonely, and Vila wouldn’t mind a quick consensual tumble into the sheets with Avon. Avon doesn’t seem impressed, but somehow Vila has a feeling he hasn’t been asking for the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bridge Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of explorations of a very, _very_ persistent headcanon I have, which is that Avon is on the asexual spectrum. I didn't really plan on this becoming a series, but, you know, _very_ persistent! At any rate, all instalments will be enjoyable as standalones or in sequence. Enjoy this first one! 
> 
> All titles of this series are inspired by lyrics of [Poets of the Fall](http://www.poetsofthefall.com/).

When Avon had first told him _no_ , Vila thought it was some stupid Alpha snobbery. For all the posturing, he hadn't taken Avon for the type. Being an Alpha had done Avon little enough good, and he was clearly capable of recognising intelligence regardless of grade – not like Jenna, or even Blake, who sometimes made Vila feel like little more than a human lock pick. It wasn't like Avon didn't have the Alpha air of arrogance, but he was that way towards everyone, not just lower grades. Vila had watched him on the _London_ , and Avon didn't interact with _anyone_ on the same level. He'd talked to Vila, which Vila had counted as success. It wasn’t like they had nothing in common: They were in the same business after all, even if their tools of trade were different. At any rate, Vila hadn't thought that it would be an _Alpha thing_ , when it came down to it.

“Not good enough after all, am I. Wouldn't want to get too chummy with a lowly Delta and petty thief, would you.” He'd scrambled out of his chair, trying not to seem upset. It wasn't a big deal. Just that he'd thought Avon would be different. They got along fine, didn't they? Made ten million together, and Blake never found out. Vila thought he'd figured Avon out, as much as anyone could figure Avon out. Had thought the arrogance was not Alpha at all, but a thin veneer, like Vila’s own act. Something to hide behind. It looked like he'd been wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Vila,” Avon had said, with that tone that was somehow both impatient and tolerant.

“It's fine. I get it. Just friends, then? Chess buddies?”

“Vila,” Avon’d said again, and this time it was without the tolerance. “Do you seriously imagine I would have let you come this far if I considered contact with your grade beneath me?”

Vila had turned back to look at him. “Everyone is beneath you, aren't they?”

To Vila’s surprise, the corners of Avon's mouth had quirked into an almost smile. “All right, Vila.” He’d leant back in his chair, waving at the chess board. “Sit down.”

Vila hadn’t understood, and had said as much.

“Just the game, Vila.”

And that was that. Vila lost the chess game, soundly. He'd been distracted by another enigma, but he hadn’t wanted to bring it up again. The _no_ had been clear and unequivocal enough, and if Avon wanted to keep his reasons to himself, let him keep his reasons to himself. Vila knew better than to ask for reasons for rejections from people like Avon. Just as long as it wasn't his grade, because that would have hurt his pride. Wasn't like they weren't all convicted criminals anyway.

  

That had been the first time, but the non-answer wouldn't leave Vila alone. Avon had said once that he didn't like unsolved mysteries – Vila didn't like them either. They meant there was something unknown, and unknown was always potentially dangerous. Likely, too, in their situation. Not that Vila was afraid of Avon, which was strange in itself. He was afraid of a lot of things. But he’d thought he'd figured Avon out all the way back in the holding cell on Earth.

 _Do you imagine I would have let you come this far_ , indeed. ‘This far,’ that was weekly games of chess in one of their rooms. They had played chess before, of course, in the rec room or on the flight deck, but that was just an extension of their usual verbal sparring matches. These meetings in either of their rooms were different. Cosy, that was the word. Not quite intimate, but more relaxed than when they had the others looking over their shoulders. Vila could give his fool’s act a bit of a rest, and Avon seemed to unwind some, too. When they played where any of the others could walk in, or during shared night shifts, Vila felt like he had to let Avon win to soothe Avon's temper, especially when he'd just come out of a… discussion with Blake. Not that Vila could give himself away, either. He might be expected to do more work. When it was just him and Avon and a locked door between their game and everyone else, Vila could at least put some effort into his chess game. Avon mostly won, anyway. Mostly.

It wasn't intimate. But it was nice, and friendly, and Vila wouldn't have minded if it got a bit more intimate and friendly. No strings attached, just… relieving some tension. A bit of fun. A safe, simple, consensual tumble into the sheets. A one-time event, even. And Avon had said no.

At first, Vila had assumed that that would also be the end of their cosy chess games. Until, that was, Avon turned up at Vila’s door at their usual time when they were both off shift and there were no pursuit ships on the scanners. As if nothing had happened the last time.

Vila was still gaping while Avon set up the pieces. “White again, Vila?” He looked up, finding Vila still by the open door, and frowned. “What _is_ the matter now?”

Vila closed the door, and laid his palm on the locking mechanism. The sound of the lock engaging was slightly soothing to his nerves. “Never mind.”

Avon hmm-ed, placed the final pawns and shifted the board into alignment with their seats. “You might as well have first move again.”

Vila sat down. “We're still playing chess?” he asked, and wanted to take it back immediately when Avon's hands stilled.

Then Avon snorted, surprising Vila yet again. “This is what this is all about? I had thought you were acting more moronic than usual this week.”

“Eh?! You were acting all mysterious and _then_ got pissed off at Blake! You're a real joy to be near when you get like that!”

There was that smirk again that was almost a sincere smile, that slightly less guarded look that had emboldened Vila in the first place. “I'm sure.” Avon settled his hands in his lap. “You _are_ a fool, Vila.”

“Is that right? Sometimes I really don't think you're human! What was I to think after last time?”

A shimmer of irritation appeared in Avon’s eyes. “Do you imagine that because you propositioned to me and were turned down the _Liberator_ would suddenly begin to carry more engaging chess partners?”

“I _thought_ it might be uncomfortable. Awkward, you know. And I wasn't suggesting anything so official sounding. Just… convenient and consensual. I _know_ the majority of patrons in the gamma clubs is Alpha, so it's not like it would be a new concept to you.”

Avon had the effrontery to look almost bored. “Vila, I do want to catch some sleep after this before Blake drags us off to his next hare-brained venture.”

“I'm not expecting anything like a relationship.”

Avon mumbled something at that, and Vila could have sworn it sounded like ‘more’s the pity’.

He blinked. “Eh?”

“I said, this conversation is pitiful. You proposed casual sex. I think I've been quite clear that I have no interest in casual sex. This conversation is closed.”

“Oh, all right.” Vila dropped his eyes to the chessboard and made his first move.

But he couldn’t let it rest. Something about Avon’s response kept niggling at his mind, as if he’d got the wrong end of a stick somewhere, but he couldn’t figure out where. It was aggravating. Vila wasn’t dense - he wasn’t! - and somehow it seemed like Avon was doing it on purpose.

It got to the point that Cally asked whether he was feeling alright ‘because it is not like you to brood, Vila!’ Vila didn’t have a clever answer to that. He couldn’t very well tell her that he’d asked Avon to have sex with him and had been turned down – kind-hearted as the Auron was, she’d assume Vila’d had his heart broken, when it was nothing like that. He liked Avon. He felt like they had an _understanding_. And he felt safe with Avon because Avon didn’t tear into dangerous situations just like that, he weighed the risks first. Maybe there was some kind of love there, some sense of a connection between them that could grow if they gave it a chance, but Vila wasn't moping about the rejection. He was preoccupied because he couldn't figure out _why_. And more importantly, he couldn't figure out why it felt like maybe it hadn't been a rejection at all, and he was missing something. Avon certainly didn't seem to act any differently around him now; if anything, Vila caught him glancing towards him more often with _that look_ – the one that let Vila see the shared mirth behind the unmoving face, like there was a bond in the air between them that none of the others were privy to. But that surely wasn’t something he could just bring up with the rest of the crew. 

So, Vila told Cally that he was just tired, and she suggested to Blake to put him in a different watch. In typical Blakeian manner, Blake promptly did it without even asking Vila for his opinion again. It meant less shifts with Avon, and no more chess, because now they were on opposing schedules. As long as they were between missions, Blake no doubt plotting away in his cabin, Vila rarely even _saw_ Avon at all now. He wasn't sure he liked that, but he couldn't very well complain to Blake, could he? Consequently, he only heard through the grapevine that Avon seemed to be particularly ill-tempered lately. Jenna, who handed over the watch to Vila, was still frowning about him even though Avon had gone to bed hours ago. Vila decided it wasn't a good idea to ask if she knew _why_ Avon was grouchy. Perhaps not sharing a shift with him was a good thing, if Avon had one of his moods.

  

A few days later, Vila got off a singularly boring shift in the early evening and headed down to the galley for some food. He also hoped to find some company there – Cally wasn't the person he wanted to talk to, but she was a friendly face and she usually had her meals around this time. His way down took him past the surgical unit, where two voices made him slow down and stop just outside the door. Cally… and Avon.

“I do not know what else to suggest.”

“Well, your stretches are useless.”

Vila cringed. Avon really _was_ in a bad mood.

“I cannot allow you to have any more painkillers. There is nothing wrong with your spine, so the tissue generator will do nothing against the pain. You have to try and–”

“If that sentence was going to end in ‘relax’, I…”

Vila chose that moment to make his entrance, cutting off Avon's threat. Drawing Avon’s fire wasn’t always fun, but Vila wasn’t a fan of conflict he could do something about. Especially not in the space he felt most safe.

Avon was sitting stiffly across one of the beds, his discomfort evident as he shifted slightly to glower at Vila.

“I could help with that, you know,” Vila announced, keeping his voice casual.

Avon’s glare turned icy. “Vila…”

“What do you mean, Vila?” Cally queried, overriding Avon's growl.

“My auntie used to say I had magic fingers for massages. Wanted me to work in a beauty parlour, she did. I decided to put those clever fingers to more profitable use.” Vila shrugged and wiggled his fingers. “Reckon I still know the odd trick.”

“It might be worth a try.” Cally sounded amused, but was clearly taking Vila’s words at face-value. Vila really had meant nothing by it, and he certainly wouldn't have taken Avon for the type to jump to innuendo immediately, but perhaps the situation between them had something to do with the silent scowl he levelled steadily at Vila. Vila couldn’t exactly blame him. For all Avon knew, Vila had requested a change in shift because of the rejection of his sexual advances, and if Vila had a reputation for anything, it was stubborn persistence.

“Avon? It is worth a try, is it not? I don't have the necessary skill, and I don't think any of the others…” Cally’s voice finally succeeded in pulling the stare off Vila, who tried to keep looking his most innocent.

Avon sighed.

“No more painkillers, remember,” the Auron added with a stern expression.

Avon looked back at Vila, and pushed himself off the bed with a grimace. “Fine.”

Vila was actually surprised by the lack of protest, so much so that he squawked “Eh? Really?”

Cally's gaze merely grew a touch more worried. That backache clearly was no joking matter.

“Yes, Vila. You have to be good for something, after all.” Avon shifted his shoulders, but it seemed to do little to ease the discomfort. “Not here, however. I prefer to do this somewhere less public.”

Vila really wanted to know what Avon was thinking at that moment. He'd lay good money on it that he wasn't expecting to actually get a massage. Well, Vila would show him. Not all Deltas had their heads in the gutter all the time. Vila didn't think now was the time to ask ‘your cabin or mine?’, so he settled for: “It'll be more comfortable lying down.”

Avon shot him a sharp glance – maybe that hadn’t come out quite right, either. Vila forced his most innocent smile.

“I hope this isn't an excuse to get out of your shift, Vila.”

“Eh? No, just got off the shift. Was going to get some food, actually.”

“Avon”, Cally cut in, “you should eat, too.”

“ _Thank you,_ Cally,” Avon said with a sharp not-smile, and set off down the corridor. “Coming, Vila?”

They only stopped in the galley long enough to gather a juice pack and sandwich each – not exactly a meal by Vila's standards, but he didn't want to give Avon a reason to change his mind. Vila's intentions were entirely honourable, after all, and it was nice to have someone to talk to again, even if Avon remained stubbornly silent. When the door to his cabin had slid into lock being them, he lowered himself carefully into a chair, his expression distracted. His back _really_ had to hurt.

“All right, Vila. I don't know why you must persist with this ridiculous topic. Clearly you can grasp the meaning of the word _no_ , and I am really not in the mood for any charades. What do you want me to say so that you can _drop it_?”

Vila held up his hands. “I really was offering a massage, you know, nothing more. You know me, Avon. Completely harmless and innocent, I am.”

To Vila's delight, that startled an almost-smile out of Avon, even if it was followed by a pained grimace. “Yes, I do know you, don't I.” Avon unwrapped his sandwich. “Sit down; you take up enough space as it is.”

Vila claimed his usual chair, digging into his own sandwich with gusto.

Avon was eating slowly, his gaze contemplative. “All right, let's assume I believe you.”

“Whassat?”

“What you are offering is just a massage. Nothing else, Vila, do you understand me?”

Vila swallowed his final bite. “You're not interested in anything else. I get it. Would be suicidal not to respect that.”

Avon rolled his eyes. “How gratifying,” he said wryly.

“I'm just here for the massage and the company. I'll leave if you want me to.”

Avon prodded his empty sandwich wrapper, apparently in thought. “Why did you change your shift?”

Oh. “Told Cally I was tired, and Blake went ahead and swapped me with himself.”

“And why would you do that?”

“She wanted to know what was wrong.”

“Ah…” Avon kept his gaze fixed on the wrapper. “Vila…”

“Now I'm not… mad or heartbroken or anything. Wasn't avoiding you, either, you know? I'm not making you do anything you don't want to do.”

“Nobody _makes_ me do anything.”

“Exactly.” Vila held Avon's gaze for a long while. He wasn't afraid. Not of Avon.

“All right. Something is bothering you about this. Out with it, Vila, this is growing tiresome.”

Vila busied his hands with the juice pack. “People usually give me a reason. In fact, they usually fling it in my face. Not that I haven't had more unsolicited advances than rejections, but nobody never not told me _why_. They were all really clear about the why.”

Avon didn't look too impressed with Vila's grammar. “You think I owe you a reason?”

“No, not like that. Just you said it wasn't my grade, and that got me wondering what it was, and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to as long as we can be friends, right? We are friends, aren't we?”

Avon smirked. “Well…”

“Now you're just being contrary.”

“Perhaps. All right, Vila. I have no interest in casual sex with you because I have no interest in casual sex, nor does sex in general rate very high on my list of priorities. It has nothing to do with you, and everything with the fact that I am asexual.”

“Oh,” Vila said, stunned. He hadn't thought Alphas even used those labels. He had thought they were so high and mighty that they felt no need to attach terminology to their sexual preferences. In fact, he'd almost convinced himself that that matter-of-course attitude was why Avon hadn't given a reason. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been turned down because the other person wasn’t interested in men. “Well, why didn't you say that in the first place?!”

“You know what it means?”

“Of course I know what it means! Spectrum of not or rarely feeling sexual attraction, attitudes to actual sexual acts and arousal may vary”, Vila recited from memory and added, “I had no idea the Alpha grade still used the old labels!”

Avon pushed himself to his feet and put their empty food packages into the waste recycling unit. “Well, rarely, anyway. I consider myself to be grey-asexual, and panromantic. In any event, this isn't exactly a topic that comes up in polite conversation.”

“Just conversations with me, then?” Vila quipped, unable to stop himself.

Avon turned his back to the wall, facing Vila again. “We use words as they are necessary, but it’s a matter of convenience, not necessity.”

“Lucky you,” Vila mumbled, thinking of all the nasty remarks he used to get when he began looking at men as much as at women and hadn’t yet known anything about sexual identities. Learning that not everyone was like him had been a shock; finding out that there _were_ others just like him, that there was a word, had been a revelation to him. Even if most of society had little interest in the sexual orientation of anyone but themselves and their partners. Of all the things the Federation did, Vila had always found its openness to all matters sexual refreshing. He realised now, of course, that it was a trick, just a little nice concession to distract people from how horrible everything else was. At least the only people he’d ever alienated before finding his label were a handful of potential partners.   

Avon sat back down with a wince. “There are horrible people in all grades, Vila.”

 “Your back really hurts, doesn't it? “

Avon sighed, closing his eyes. “I'm afraid it rather does. Is your curiosity sufficiently satisfied now?”

Maybe it was because Avon wasn't looking that Vila said: “I didn’t mean to presume. Just a Delta coward, eh? I only proposed sex because I didn't think I'd get anything else. If you think it’s all I have to offer, let’s forget this conversation ever happened, eh? I won’t mention it to anyone if you don’t.”

Avon's eyes flicked open at that, his expression speculative. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

Vila’s heart jumped, _sure_ that he hadn’t mistaken Avon’s meaning, and he clambered nervously to his feet. “Shall we try the massage?”

“I might rather enjoy this.”

And that was how they ended up on Avon's bed, which was comfortable enough, but really lacked back support. Vila didn't image they'd be fully clothed when he first started fantasising about being with Avon, but that was alright. He wanted the company more than the sex, and Avon showed no signs of wanting to change his mind about Vila – though Vila had given him plenty of opportunities to put a stop to it all. So many that Avon had finally snapped at him to _get on with it, Vila!_

Avon's back was tenser than Vila’s auntie's had ever been, all knots and muscles stiff as boards, especially around his shoulders, which was where Vila focused his efforts. It would have been easier on the freestanding couches of the rec room, but Avon didn't seem to mind that Vila practically had to climb on top of him to get any leverage at all. On the contrary, they had lapsed into a calm and comfortable silence as soon as Vila had got started. He could feel Avon breathing slowly, his head pillowed on his arms. He had closed his eyes, and Vila could have imagined him asleep if not for the pinches of pain still creasing his eyes.

Vila ran the pads of his thumb alongside Avon's spine, working his way back around to his shoulders along the bottom of the shoulder blades. Avon twitched when Vila dug his thumb into the muscles there, the pain lines deepening, and Vila immediately smoothed out his touch, running his palms along the muscles with barely any pressure at all. They might find massage oil somewhere and do this without Avon's black shirt as barrier, if Avon was okay with that, of course. With proper light and ambience, not the unsubtle glare of the cabin light and only the distant rumbling of Liberator's engines for music. Maybe a nice drink, too, and then just… fall asleep in each other's company. It sounded nice, and Vila voiced his thoughts quietly to Avon as he worked, not receiving or expecting an answer right at this moment. In this moment, what they had was enough.

Delta accommodations had always been crowded, and though Vila loved having so much space for himself for the first time in his life, he got lonely sometimes. In prisons and juvenile detention wards, loneliness was a good thing, the next best alternative to having someone to protect you, but Vila felt safe on the Liberator – the evil was out there; in here, he trusted his crewmates not to want to harm him. Avon would probably have chided him for that trust, but deep down, Vila thought, deep down, Avon did trust them, too, did trust Vila, at least, or they would never have got to where they were. Perhaps they were on their way to something more intimate, and if that didn’t figure sex as much of a priority, or at all, Vila couldn’t say he minded.

He rubbed soft circles with his thumb, gently easing tense muscles into relaxation, and wondered if Avon had fallen asleep after all, his features smoothed out. Wondered what Avon would do if Vila snuggled up next to him, what he would do if Vila was still there in the morning.

“You're day-dreaming, Vila,” Avon said at that moment, his voice just above a whisper, but awake enough.

“Hmm,” Vila replied intelligently, “just wondering how long you'll have me do this.”

Somehow, for some reason, Avon wasn't in the mood for his teasing. He shifted, looking back at Vila. “It was you who offered.”

“I was joking, Avon.” Vila pushed against Avon's shoulders. “Lie back down, you'll undo all my hard work, tensing up like that.”

“You don't know what the word means, Vila,” Avon shot back, falling again into their comfortable banter. Vila wondered if Avon had had less than pleasant experiences with sexual situations. They might have been easy enough to avoid in polite Alpha society, but prison tended to be less respectful. Perhaps Avon had every reason to expect the worst, every reason to insist on consent and clear boundaries. Vila certainly wouldn’t be complaining. He had long grown tired of having his own boundaries violated, tired of adjusting them for everyone else. He had a feeling Avon would make sure that there wouldn’t be any uncomfortable compromising between them.

Aloud, Vila said, “Yeah? I bet my back isn't in such a state. You should try working less.”

“Now you sound like Cally, always telling me to relax. It doesn't suit you.”

“She's right, though. I need to give my hands a rest sometimes, or I'll be no use picking locks. Bending over computers all the time can't be good for you.”

Avon sighed, as if he were about to say something he'd rather not admit. The words, when they came, were quiet and reluctant. “The backache only appeared in the last few days.”

“Jenna said you were more grouchy than usual.”

“You mistake my meaning,” Avon said.

Vila's hands stilled out of their own accord. The credit chip had dropped, and Vila knew better than to drag it out in the open by saying it. It might have forced Avon to deny it. _You'll always have me_ , he wanted to say but didn't. So much for Alpha snobbery. Instead, he resumed to gentle rhythm of the massage, noting with pleasure that the muscles felt far softer than when he started. “Jus’ a while longer, then I'll have to rest my hands. Blake will want me to open things again tomorrow, I'm sure. Can't wear myself out.”

Avon huffed a dry laugh. “Don't worry, I don't think Blake will drag us off to a new mission just yet.”

“Really?”

“As much as he loathes admitting it, these things do take time to plan, even for someone as recklessly idealistic as Blake.” Avon propped himself up on his elbows, effectively dislodging Vila.

“I hope you're right about that.” Vila removed himself from the bed to give Avon space, and settled back into his customary chair. He gathered up the juice he’d abandoned earlier and took a contended sip.

Avon sat up, rolling his shoulders expectantly. Vila saw the flicker of surprise before Avon could mask it.

“Better?” he asked, allowing himself an insolent grin.

“It seems you _are_ good for something, after all.”

“See? I told you it would do you good. Magic fingers, these are.”

“I'm surprised you can put them to use if there is nothing in it for you.”

“Eh, there is something in it for me. You're slightly less unbearable when you're not miserable or in pain.”

Avon scowled, but there was no malice behind it. In fact, his expression fell into a small, private smile. “Sometimes you show real signs of intelligence, Vila.”

Knowing that that was all the thanks he was going to get, Vila contentedly propped up his feet on the edge of Avon's bed, grinning. “Little game of chess?”

Avon glanced at the chronometer displayed above the empty computer screen, and something like regret passed over his face, so fast that even Vila, who knew how to watch Avon, almost missed it. “Not tonight. I have the night watch, and I don't think Cally would be pleased with the two of us if we are both tired tomorrow.”

Neither of them moved for a moment, then Vila dropped his feet to the floor. “How do I get Blake to switch back the watch?” he asked, pretending not to notice the pleased expression in Avon's eyes at his words.

“What makes you think I want you back on my watch?”

“Your back, actually,” Vila said, dancing on the line of insouciance with consummate skill. Oh yes, Avon was one of a kind – but there was this thing about dangerous men; if you managed to make them feel safe with you, you would always be safe with them.

“Don't flatter yourself,” Avon said, his expression no less gentle. “I will talk to Blake. Leaving you to watch on your own borders on self-destructive anyway.”

“Hey, I don't always fall asleep!” Vila protested out of habit.

“Not always.” Avon shot back, with a grin.

Silence fell, and still neither of them had moved.

“Avon?”

“Hmm?”

“My cabin gets awfully lonely at night. I'm not used to sleeping alone, you know? It's why I'm always dozing off on the flight deck.”

“Are you making excuses now?” Avon asked, but didn’t sound like he meant it. His gaze was locked with Vila’s.

“Do you think I could maybe… stay? I'm sure it would make me more efficient.”

“Careful, Vila. I might hold you to that.”

Vila smiled his most innocent. He was sure Avon knew what he was doing, and perhaps that expression Avon wore now was gratitude. The computer expert bent down remove his boots. “Take off those shoes first.”

Vila complied with relish, but waited until Avon had settled in before moving from the chair. Avon turned his back to the room and shifted close to the wall to make space, but Vila knew to move slowly. Avon hadn’t thrown him out when they’d settled down for the massage, but this was something more.

Vila sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Avon to tense up, giving him one last out. It didn't happen, not even when Vila settled uneasily onto the mattress, finding it just a little narrow so that, in a flash of boldness, he scooted right up to Avon, sneaking his arm over Avon's midsection.

He felt Avon tense then, and might have withdrawn if the tension hadn't melted away as quickly as it had come.

“It's a bit narrow,” Vila commented, settling his hand somewhere on Avon’s stomach, enjoying the body warmth bleeding through Avon’s shirt.

“Hmm. I don't imagine they were designed to be shared.” Avon shifted a little, settling a little closer to Vila, a little more comfortable for both of them. “Zen, lights!” he instructed, and the lights went off.

Vila's breath caught for a second, thinking that Avon might well prefer complete darkness – which Vila hated with a passion. It made him feel as if he were trapped in a coffin;  it wasn't supposed to be this dark – but then there was a soft flicker that soon steadied, no brighter than a candle flame, warm and soft, and it was enough.

“Vila, do you mind?”

Only then did Vila realise that his hand had bunched to a fist in Avon's shirt in his sudden fright. “Sorry.” He unclenched his hand. “Don't much like the dark.”

“Is there anything you aren't scared of?” Avon asked, but there was a smile in his voice. Their breathing had evened out, falling into sync with surprising ease. _This_ , Vila thought, _this is all we need._

“Yes,” he said, and rested his head against Avon's shoulders.


End file.
